Alma's tale
by Henta1Rampag3
Summary: F.E.A.R. through the eyes of Alma and some other important characters.


_**ALMA**_

Alma put on her red dress she always wore for sleeping. She loved its comfort, and its particular shade of red. Red like the blood in her last nightmare…

No. Alma never thought about her nightmares. They happened every night, but she thought that one night she'd be safe from the monsters.

"Daddy!" she called, tucking herself into bed.

Harlan Wade walked into Alma's room, still dressed in his business suit.

"Alma," he said, sitting down next to her.

"Can you read me a story, Daddy?" Alma asked, cute as any other little girl who wasn't afflicted by psychic hallucinations of the undead.

Harlan smiled, a pained smile. He grabbed a book off Alma's night table and opened to her bookmark. He began to read a story about a young duckling that was abandoned by its parents because of its imperfection, but accepted by the end of the story.

Alma would never be accepted.

Harlan soon noticed that Alma had fallen asleep, definitely the result of the sleeping pill he had slipped into her milk 10 minutes ago. Harlan picked Alma up in his arms and brought her into the garage. With one hand, Harlan awkwardly opened the door of his car.

He placed Alma in the backseat, closed the door and entered the driver's seat. He turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. Alma squirmed in the back, most likely from another nightmare.

Harlan sighed as he backed out of the garage and into the rainy night. Alma would never have a chance at a normal life. He was doing her a favor. By the time she was a teenager, if she still had nightmares every night, she would probably kill herself anyway.

Harlan drove for an hour to reach Rammelheimer industrial compound, or at least the secret entrance. He pulled up beside an alley, and an Armacham Technology Corporation mercenary walked up to his car. Harlan rolled down the window.

"Name?" the merc grumbled.

"Harlan Wade."

"Password?"

"Origin."

The merc looked through the back window at the sleeping Alma.

He grunted.

"I'll help you lift 'er."

Monsters, twisting in the dark. Screaming Alma's name.

"_ALMA!" _they shrieked, "_We're coming for you Alma!"_

Alma felt like screaming, but instead she prayed; Prayed to god as her father had taught her.

"Please O lord," she whispered in her sleep, "Will thou not help the, a little girl?"

The ghouls subsided, Alma was waking up…

…Alma came to. Her vision slowly faded in, and she was lying down in a bed that wasn't hers. There were doctors all around her, hurrying, but this wasn't the doctor's office. This place was dark and foreboding, and she wasn't in the white dress the doctor always gave her, she was naked. Worst of all, a massive light burned her eyes.

She squinted, but it was tougher than usual. Her eyelids seemed to close excruciatingly slowly. She tried to lift an arm, but it wouldn't budge, not even an inch.

"I've got muscle activity," a doctor shouted.

"Stop it," another doctor said icily.

Alma felt a jolt of electricity course through her body, bringing tears to her eyes.

She tried to yelp, but her mouth was stuffed with foul-tasting rags, making her gag instead.

_This is another nightmare, _Alma thought, _a terrible nightmare._

She forced her eyes to open and looked around, moving only her pupils.

There was a doctor with cruel eyes and a wicked looking device in his hands, around it spiraled visible electricity. Another doctor held a terrifying needle, but what bothered Alma the most was who stood at the end of the bed: Her father.

_Daddy?_ Alma thought, _why aren't you helping me? Daddy!_

Harlan grabbed his forehead as if he was feeling sick.

"Somebody get him out of here!" the doctor with the instrument of torture ordered. Harlan began to leave the room.

_Daddy Please! _Alma shrieked in her mind _help me!!_

Harlan left the room and closed the door behind him.

Alma was heart-broken and furious at the same time. She had no idea what was going on, and her own father had left her to her unknown fate. She looked at the surgeon and thought about how much she hated him and the pain he had caused her.

At that moment, his head imploded. He had barely any time to scream before he lay sprawled on top of Alma, head gushing blood.

"Holy shit!" screamed the other surgeon.

Alma was being crushed under the body of the decapitated surgeon, unable to breathe until the other surgeon pushed the body off of her chest. Alma would have taken a massive breath had her lungs been at full strength, but instead she continued to breathe normally, sucking in bits of air.

The surgeon with the needle plunged the needle into Alma's neck, and yet another pain afflicted her tortured body. She closed her eyelids, and before long she drifted back into unconsciousness.

Alma awoke. She looked around, but all she saw was blackness. Complete blackness. She tried to scream, but she couldn't. She tried to move, but it felt like she was floating in thin air. Actually, it felt like she was only half there; wherever she was. She couldn't feel her body normally, as if she were detached.

Suddenly, there was a light in the dark. It was orange, but so far away. Alma began to sort of 'swim' towards it, but she wouldn't actually move. However the light inched closer and closer. It inched at an excruciatingly slow pace, and Alma was dying with anticipation to know what it was.

Then, the light shot like a rocket towards her. Before she could feel anything Alma was thrown onto a ground of hard sand.

"Owww," Alma groaned. She stood up. She again wore her red dress, but she was in the middle of a scorching desert. The wind threw the sand up to enormous heights, whipping her entire body with acute stings.

She held her hands in front of her face, and after a little while she squinted off into the distance. Standing in the distance were the monsters from her nightmares; she'd recognize their emaciated, corpse-like facades any day.

"Alma…" one hissed, "We're so glad to see you…"

"No!" Alma shouted, putting her arms over her head in fear, "Leave me alone!"

"I wouldn't say that, Alma," one apparition whispered. Alma shuddered as its sickly finger dragged itself across her skin, "we're going to be your only friends for a long time."

"You'll never be my friends!!," Alma shrieked, daring to look up at the ghoul with her teary eyes.

The ghoul smiled evilly, the flesh where its mouth should have been tearing in half with a cacophony of wet snapping sounds.

Alma struggled ran as fast as she could away, refusing to believe the apparition as it cackled behind her.

"How is she?" Harlan asked the technician. He stared at the black coffin-like cell that encased his daughter with regret. It had been a week since the night where he had watched as Alma had been scared, tortured, and basically mummified before his own eyes. The technician turned back to the multiple computer screens on the large terminal.

"Life signs are normal," the technician started, "her perspiration level's a bit high, heartbeat's a little fast. Her brainwaves are…what the Hell?"

"What is it?" Harlan leaned over the technician's shoulder.

"Her brainwaves are crazy, all over the place," the technician indicated a screen with an incredibly jumpy line bouncing all over a grid, "I've never seen anything like it. I know that she's a psychic, but this? Damn."

Harlan got a stomachache; the kind of stomachache he got when he forgot something very important at work, or the kind he used to get when he failed a school test as a child. He knew perfectly well that Alma was suffering another nightmare, but to hear it was something altogether different.

Alma literally could not go to sleep without suffering a nightmare, and if she was permanently asleep, unable to wake up…

Harlan stormed out of the room, wiping a glistening tear from his eye.

Alma knelt in the dirt of the graveyard around her. As the wind howled, she prayed to God again.

"Please O lord, will thou not help the, a little girl?"

"He will not," spoke the all-too-familiar voice of the apparition from the direction behind her.

Alma whipped her head around, "Go Away! Leave me alone!"

"Why?" it hissed, "We are your only friends and you better believe it."

"God will save me!" Alma shouted, although she was pleading to herself more than she was convincing herself.

Another apparition rose out of a nearby grave. "Foolish girl, God does not exist. Surely your father taught you that."

"He taught me that God did exist." Alma stated, backing up.

"Strange," chuckled the other apparition; "I didn't think your father would lie to you if he loved you."

The apparitions laughed maniacally.

Alma struggled to keep the tears from her eyes, "My daddy does love me!" she said before running off into the night. The graveyard stretched on for literally thousands of miles; Alma had no hope of escape.

Rotting arms burst from the ground, grasping at Alma's bare legs. She shrieked in fear and tried to kick them away, but the effort was futile. One of the arms gabbed Alma's right leg and yanked so hard that it pulled Alma over.

As the arm dragged her towards the grave, she dragged her fingers across the dirt in a pathetic attempt to survive.

"Let go!" she cried, "Let me g-!"

Before she finished her sentence, she was dragged through the dirt of the grave. She expected to be met with a rotting zombie but instead she found herself in a musty tomb.

She brushed herself off, still shaking with fright and cold. Whimpering, she took a few steps into the doom and gloom of the tomb, the torches being the only light.

Suddenly the torches all blew out, stopping Alma in the darkness. She didn't risk making a sound until a giant fire lit up the entire tomb. She screamed at the sudden appearance, and the voices of the apparitions echoed around the tomb.

"If God existed Alma," the voices boomed, "Would he not save you? He has left you to the Hell of your own mind, but alas you don't see."

Alma closed her eyes. She felt like screaming. What if God really didn't exist? If he did that didn't mean he cared about her. Did her father even care about her? Did anyone?

She screamed in frustration and fear, wishing it would all make sense, wishing she wasn't who she was, where she was, and that somebody would save her.

Alma held her head in her hands. She sat on the swing from her old school, in the middle of the rainy playground. She was thinking. Where was she? Why was this happening? It felt like forever since she had last gone to sleep in her old bed, and the apparitions constantly haunted her dreams.

Dreams.

That was it! She was in one massive nightmare. How long had she been asleep? The thought just made Alma shed tears again. She was completely alone in a massive nightmare, with no friends and no way out.

_God doesn't exist,_ she thought to herself.

She got up off the swing set and ran to the center of the fading, chalk hopscotch board. She picked up a rock and hurled it into a large puddle. As the ripples spread across the surface, she threw back her head and shrieked at the sky.

"God doesn't exist!!!!" she yelled with all her anguish, "I'm already in Hell!!! I HATE YOU!!!"

She slumped to her knees as tears once again welled up in her eyes.

"There is no God," she murmured, "anyone, please wake me up."

"Anyone?" said the voice of one of the apparitions, "really?"

Alma wasn't even scared this time. She slowly turned around, her dark, stringy hair curtaining her face ominously.

"How do I get out?" she demanded.

The apparition shrugged its shoulders, "You see? We were right. There is no God. Because you finally opened your eyes, you will be free."

For the first time in a long while, Almas eyes sparked with hope.

"Really?" she asked.

The apparition chuckled darkly.

"Yes of course," it said, smirking, "but I never said that was a good thing."

Almas eyes reopened before she had even closed them. She looked around, and doctors were pulling her along a hallway on a stretcher.

Doctors.

She shuddered, and then gasped in sudden pain.

"She's awake," acknowledged one doctor.

"And we're here!" finished the other sarcastically, "Mr. Habegger!"

Mr. Habbegger looked at Alma. He was an old man of about 60, with white, balding hair and wrinkled features.

"You've grown quite a bit Alma," He said smugly.

Alma looked at herself, and then nearly fainted in disbelief. Her hair had grown down to her waist, and she had boobs, like the older girls at school. And she was fat.

Another acute pain afflicted her, and she yelped in agony.

"Someone get her some tranquilizer!" shouted a doctor.

"Make her push!" said another.

Alma had no idea what was going on, but she knew that she was in a searing amount of pain. She screamed at a particularly painful stretch, and a doctor had to cover his own ears.

For what seemed like hours Alma remained in a constant state of torture. Her vision was blurry, and she couldn't hear clearly anything that was being spoken around her. There was a lot of screaming and many doctors left and re-entered the room during the time.

Finally, the pain subsided to a dull stinging sensation. She looked over her chest and realized that she wasn't fat any more. The doctors were no longer panicking, and at the end of the bed was her father.

Rejuvenated, she sat up on her elbows. Her father held up something, cradling it in his hands.

It was a baby.

Alma inhaled with joy. It was her baby. She had no idea how it had happened, but she had become a mother.

"Let me see it daddy!" she said, but Harlan ignored her. It was then that Alma realized he was taking it from her.

"Give me back my baby!!" she demanded, but Harlan still did not respond.

The baby was crying hysterically, but Harlan ignored that too and spoke to it.

"You will be a god among men," he spoke, before looking at Alma.

"Take her back to the vault."

The doctors hastily pulled her through a door and back down the hall.

"NOOOOOO!!!!!!" she screamed. She had just given agonizing birth and she wanted her baby.

She looked at one of the doctors and concentrated her hatred and anger.

The doctor doubled over in obvious pain.

"What the Hell?" another doctor queried, "What's wrong with Hank?"

Just then, Hank's flesh began to melt. He tried to scream, but all that came out was a gurgling sound. Before Alma's eyes, Hank was melted down to death.

Alma looked over the bedside and saw Hank's skeleton lying in a stomach-churning puddle of blood. Another doctor grabbed Alma's arm and threatened her with a scalpel.

"You little psychic bitch," he spoke, but Alma wasn't listening. She stared into his eyes and once again concentrated her rage.

The doctor's head imploded, just like the other one however long ago it had been, but this time Alma watched as the headless doctor was thrown against the wall, leaving a revolting blood stain running down it.

Alma turned her attention to the last doctor, who was now an emotional wreck. He was huddled in the corner, rocking back and forth.

"Please…don't… kill me," he pleaded.

"Give me back my baby," Alma ordered firmly.

"I…I'll try." He said desperately. Hesitantly, the doctor got to his feet and started for the door.

That was when yet another syringe was plunged in to Alma's neck. As her head snapped back, she saw a man in an ATC uniform grinning above her before she lost consciousness.

Harlan looked through the window at the prototype. Alma's baby.

He was a remarkable specimen; 10 lbs. and no disfigurations whatsoever.

_I suppose this makes me a grandfather?_ Harlan thought to himself; yet instead of chuckling, he merely became sick.

Harlan sighed and entered the nursery, where a team of midwives and a scientist watched over the sleeping prototype. The midwives didn't know the horrible origin of the prototype, and therefore were content to giggle and admire the cuteness of the infant, but the scientist was gravely serious as he worked at his laptop.

Harlan stood over the scientist, "How is the prototype?"

The scientist clicked on a graph, highlighting certain texts to emphasize certain points.

"We ran some tests, and we got both positive and negative results."

"Like what?" Harlan was not in the best mood. No one would be a month after their daughter had given painful birth just for the purpose of science.

The scientist rubbed his stubble.

"His strength is 2 times that of a normal human, his reflexes are off the charts, his I.Q. is over 200, and he's still just a month old. Of course, all these statistics, the strength in particular, are relative to his age."

"Good, good," Harlan said. Those were incredible statistics for an infant.

"However," said the scientist, I'm afraid his psychic potential is too low to be eligible for the-"

"What!?" Harlan exclaimed. He looked around and noticed that the midwives were staring at him, and then added in a lower voice, "You're saying that all of Origin was pointless?"

The scientist sighed, "Yes."

"We have to try again," Harlan rubbed his temples, "Make another embryo and try again."

The scientist hesitated, "Really, Mr. Wade? You know what happened last time, remember?"

"Yes I remember," Harlan snapped, "take it up with Charles. I've got things I have to do."

Harlan drove his car down the street. All of Origin had been a waste. For a few seconds, the thought of releasing Alma flashed through his mind, but after the trauma she had suffered there was no turning back.

He stopped in front of an old orphanage on 5th street. Sighing, he got out of his car and entered the orphanage.

Once inside, he strode up to the desk where a middle aged woman sat, obviously bored in the dark room.

"Hello," started Harlan nervously.

The woman looked up, disinterested, and said, "You here to adopt?"

"Maybe," Harlan said. He really wasn't sure.

The woman got up and beckoned for him to follow.

She led Harlan down an aisle where only babies were available.

"We're all out of kids over 1 year old," she explained.

Harlan nodded, but then stopped as a particular baby caught his eye. It was a girl, with deep blue eyes and blonde hair.

"Could I hold that one?" Harlan asked.

"Be my guest."

Harlan picked up the baby girl. He would redeem himself. He'd rescue this orphan and be an actual father that he never was.

"How much is she?"

"$2,000 dollas," the woman said, "orphans ain't cheap."

"I'll take her."

The woman handed Harlan some papers and a pen, "You need to sign, pay, and name her."

Harlan handed the girl to the woman. As he signed his name and filled out the check, he thought about his deceased wife and what her name was.

He reached the part on the paper where he had to print the baby's name.

Alice.

Alma didn't even feel like crying. Thoughts of her baby continued to flash through her mind, making her feel confused and angry. She was trapped in a room with no scenery, no doors, and no windows. The room was unbearably cold, made even worse by the fact that her body had now gone from a girl's body to a woman's. Thanks to this, her dress just barely fit her, and her wild and long hair wouldn't stay out of her face.

"I just want to die," Alma whispered to herself, huddling up in the corner of the room.

A portion of the wall blurred, and out of it stepped two apparitions. They simply stood over Alma, staring at her with their sickly lemon eyes.

"You want to die?" one asked.

Alma looked up at them, her eyes filled with blind fury.

"Kill me," she said, deadly serious in her monumental request.

The other apparition shook its head, "I'm afraid we can't let you die."

Alma lost her temper.

"Why not!? I hate you! I hate life! There's no God! I want my baby!"

At the last mention, Alma broke down. Tears streamed down her face like waterfalls, and her shoulders shook uncontrollably.

The apparitions waited until her crying had subsided to slight weeping before answering.

"Do you know where you are?"

"In a nightmare," Alma sobbed.

"Quite, but there is so much more to it."

The apparitions again waited until Alma made eye contact with them.

"You're special Alma," one said.

"Special in a bad way," added the other.

Alma huffed, "Obviously."

"There are two worlds, Alma," one apparition began, "There is your world, in which humans live their everyday lives and live until death."

Alma looked up. She was interested now.

"And there is another world…this world. In this world, the supernatural beings live. We are the supernatural beings. No normal human should be able to see us, but you are."

The other apparition took over.

"For some reason you, Alma Wade, are both linked to the human world and ours. To you, as a human, our world appears as a sort of hellish nightmare to you-"

"But I thought ghosts didn't really exist," Alma protested, "I thought you were just in my nightmares."

"Your nightmares are really just your glimpses into our world," the apparition carried on, "You have a tie to our world that no other human has, but for you to see it you need to be asleep."

"The fact that you are being held in permanent state of sleep poses a problem for us," the other apparition took over, "If you remain in our world for too long it will tear the seams between the human and supernatural world, and chaos will engulf both worlds in flames."

Alma was taking it all in carefully. She reached a conclusion.

"Why can't you just kill me?" she asked, "then I won't be asleep, I'll be dead."

"Because we don't have the power to kill you," stated the apparition, "At least not while you're in our world."

"And, even if you died you'd still end up here because of your mental connection to our world."

"Then how do you plan to get rid of me?" Alma demanded, "How can I escape and make you happier?"

"We have a plan," the apparition spoke, "Don't you worry."

Alma awoke to a bright light. She tried to bring her arm up to shield her eyes, but her arms were strapped down to the side rails of a bed. Doctors hurried around her, and multiple computers monitored her bodily functions.

Suddenly, a sharp and familiar pain shot through her body.

Alma yelped, and then the realization came to her.

She was having another baby.

"She's awake," said a doctor, somewhat fearfully.

"Shut up, wuss," said another.

Alma tried to speak, but another pain caused her to screech instead.

"Ow, Dammit," the doctor said, "That hurts my ears."

Alma couldn't do anything; she was in too much pain. She could only listen and watch as the same memory seemed to repeat itself. The pain, the confusion, the noise and the sting.

And, once again, the baby.

Alma looked over the bed and again saw another baby. It looked almost exactly like the last one, but she still wanted it with all her heart.

"Give it to me now!!" she demanded.

The man holding the baby looked up from behind a mask. Alma could still tell it was her father.

"Daddy listen to me!" she begged, "I want to see it!"

The doctors began to push her back, but Harlan held up his hand.

"Alma," he said. He hesitated, almost afraid to speak to his daughter again. "What would you like to name him?"

"Paxton," Alma said. It was the name of the duckling in her favorite story. "But daddy, what's going-"

"Paxton it is," Harlan said, "Take her back."

"Wait!" Alma shouted, "He's mine! I want him!"

But the doctors already had plunged the sleep inducing serum into her arm once more. Alma was too weak to resist, and she lost consciousness.

Alma awoke to the stench of the apparition's breath leaning over her. She got up and again found herself in the stark room.

"Get away," she said, and the apparition stood back up.

Alma searched her blurry mind for her memories, and it all came rushing back to her: The birth, the baby, and the "plan."

"Wait!" Alma exclaimed, "How am I going to get out of here!? You said there was a plan!"

The apparition pretended to sigh, "Why so hasty?"

"I want my other baby!!!!" Alma shrieked.

The apparition shook its head.

"Our plan involves your baby, but you'll have to wait."

Alma became furious.

"How long!?!! I want him!"

The apparition paused for a few seconds for effect.

"Ten years at least."

Alma began to sob. It was all too much. First her babies were taken from her, she didn't understand anything about why, and now she had to wait ten years to escape her nightmares?

She started to wail in anger and sorrow; tearing at her own hair and holding her head in her hands. The apparition just waited for her to calm down.

It waited an hour before the fit subsided.

In the human world, that was half a year.

Alma simply slouched over, her hair hanging over her face.

The apparition explained, "It will be at least ten years before your son is able to communicate telepathically with you. You will tell him to set you free."

"Which son?" Alma asked, a little bit more faithfully, "Paxton?"

"Yes."

It had been 2 years since Paxton's birth. He had enough psychic potential, and was therefore being kept by Armacham for commander training at a later date. It allowed Harlan to forget about Alma and concentrate on Alice.

Harlan looked at himself in the mirror on the door in his bedroom. He sighed, looking at his once rich hair degrading to a shade of thin gray.

_You're getting old, _he thought to himself. He remembered when he had been an ambitious, handsome scientist; straight out of MIT and power hungry. Now, he was a horrible father and a power hungry psycho.

He turned and walked to Alice's crib. Harlan watched her as she slept so peacefully. No nightmares…at least not every night.

Harlan suddenly jumped as his cell phone rang in his pocket. He grabbed it and answered it as soon as possible to keep Alice from waking. He also walked out of the room.

"What the Hell is it?" Harlan said.

"It's Charles Habegger, Harlan," Charles said.

"Oh, sorry," Harlan chuckled nervously, "well, what is it?"

"The third replica prototype was a success."

"I though Paxton couldn't command them yet."

"We ran some simple tests. We annoyed Paxton with a feather, and the replica's brain waves went crazy. So we know that he can at least respond."

"Ah, good." Harlan relaxed. The first replica had developed a conscience, and therefore killed himself after he had found out that he'd have to exist in a thoughtless existence of darkness while awaiting orders.

The second replica hadn't developed a conscience, thanks to Armacham's tampering, but he hadn't even developed a brain either.

The news of a successful replica seemed too good to be true.

"But, Harlan…" Charles continued sounding concerned.

"What is it?" Harlan asked.

"Paxton, he needs more of an identity. If he ever learned the truth, the results could be…disastrous."

Disturbing images flashed through Harlan's mind.

…Alma, confused and in pain on the gurney….the chart of the brainwaves screaming through Alma's head….the slaughtered doctors in the hallway after the first birth…

The truth.

"Give him a last name, then," Harlan managed.

"I was thinking Fettel," Charles said, "It's a fairly uncommon name in Fairport."

"That will do," Harlan concluded, "is that all?"

"Yes."

"Goodnight then."

Harlan ended the call and turned off his phone. He refused to think about Alma; locked in a cold, dark cell for the rest of her life. No. Alice needed him now.

More so, Harlan needed Alice.

Alma was freed from the room with no explanation at all. She just realized that she was standing in the rainy playground once more. She looked into the puddle on the blacktop ground. It was clear water, and Alma found herself staring at her own reflection; evident by the ragged hair and tiny red dress.

Alma took her hands and swept her hair aside, only to stare in shock. She reached forward and touched her reflection.

"I'm so pretty," she thought out loud.

Alma felt hopeful once more as she stared at the more mature, womanly version of herself that she had become in what had felt like a two weeks.

Alma continued to stare until she saw another reflection behind her. She turned around and stared the apparition in the eyes.

"It's time," it said.

"For what?" Alma inquired.

"For you to be free."

Alma inhaled with excitement. Was it true?

"Alma," instructed the apparition, "Focus your memories. Think about your baby, Paxton, and tell him about your plight. He will get the message…hopefully."

Alma closed her eyes. She thought back to her memories on Paxton, and how he was taken from her. Images of doctors and her past nightmares passed through her thoughts in rapid succession, but she held onto the one image of the baby at the foot of the bed…

The 12-year old Paxton Fettel ran a finger along his upper lip, where hair had begun to grow recently. Soon he would have a moustache, like the guard to his left. Three ATC guards were leading Paxton to the 'army' whatever that was.

The guard held up his hand once the squad had reached a massive steel door.

"Welcome to your future, kid," he said as he typed in a code on a panel.

The doors slid apart, and Paxton gasped.

In rows were soldiers, sci-fi looking soldiers. They all wore futuristic armor; some wore armor that looked nigh impenetrable.

"Those are the heavies," another guard explained.

Paxton walked up to the tall soldiers and touched a heavy. Its armor was smooth and shiny, and when Paxton rapped on it with his knuckles, a dull thunk was heard.

"This is so cool!" Paxton yelled excitedly, "What do they do?"

"You command them with your mind," a guard chuckled, "If you want someone killed, you just tell them what you want and they'll do it. They're called replicas, by the way."

Paxton stared in awe at the army. His army.

Suddenly, on the periphery of his vision, he could see a little girl.

Paxton looked in her direction, but she disappeared in a shower of ashes. The strange hallucination made him slightly queasy and scared.

As quickly as the girl had come and gone, an image popped up before Paxton's eyes. The image of a ghostly apparition crawling along the wall towards its helpless victim.

The grotesqueness made Paxton want to scream, but it didn't seem that the guards were seeing the same thing.

Another image manifested itself in Paxton's vision; this one of the girl on a swing, hanging from a single tree on a fiery plain.

As Paxton closed his eyes, a voice whispered into his ear.

"Kill them," it said, "kill them all…"

Paxton screamed in fear of the strange happenings.

"Hey kid what's wrong?" asked a guard nervously, but the other guards were paying attention to something different entirely.

The replicas were activating.

They raised their weapons and aimed them at the guards.

Paxton watched in horror as the guards were brought down in a frenzy of booming assault rifles, screaming, and crimson blood.

A voice blared on the intercom all over the room.

"The replicas have activated! All security personnel get to vault 2A ASAP!"

The replicas all acted immediately. They split up into squads just in time before multiple doors opened all over the room. ATC security teams poured in and started firing sub-machine guns. The bullets killed some replicas, and Paxton felt a growing emptiness in his consciousness every time one fell.

The heavies charged for the guards, firing nails out of heinous looking weapons. Paxton watched in growing horror as the guards were nailed to the walls. Some didn't even die, but instead coughed up blood and tried futilely to pull themselves free.

More bullets were fired and the guards started to retreat, but the doors had all been shut for security measures. As the hapless guards banged their fists on the doors, the replicas closed in for the kills…

Paxton didn't watch, but the guards' screams of agony pierced his ears. He sat pitifully in the corner, whimpering on the verge of tears.

He heard footsteps, and he looked up into the blank, blue eyes of a heavy. Paxton's first instinct was to pull away, but he heard a voice in his head again. This time, it was a non-threatening voice, rather a confused one.

_What's wrong? _It inquired, _we were just protecting you._

Paxton looked back up at the heavy. It held its weapon in a relaxed stance, and its head was cocked to the side in a confused state.

Paxton then realized that the concerned voice was that of the heavy.

Paxton held out his arms. The heavy scooped him up effortlessly and held up its weapon with its right arm.

Paxton ran his hand along the heavy's armor and noticed that there were many bullets lodged in it. Paxton realized that the heavy had no intention other than to protect him, and so he huddled close and entrusted his protection to the heroic soldier.

The heavy lumbered over to a non-heavy replica, around which many other replicas were grouped.

"Echo and Theta: set up a perimeter," the replica was saying, "You."

He indicated the heavy, "Make sure the commander is not harmed. If need be, your life before his."

The heavy gave a distorted growl, which Paxton felt emanate from deep within the armor. The heavy turned awkwardly and carried Paxton to a covered position behind an armored van.

"What's your name?" Paxton asked the heavy. It didn't respond.

Just then a deafening explosion made Paxton jump. Looking up, there was a hole in the roof of the giant room. Through it were ATC heavy-duty security troops rappelling down from ropes.

Many were sniped by the replicas, but many more reached the floor and started tossing grenades.

The heavy let out an irritated growl, and Paxton realized that an ATC squad had flanked the truck and were firing at the heavy. As the bullets pinged off the heavy's armor, Paxton covered his head. The heavy crouched and hid Paxton behind its thick arm and shoulder and began to fire at the guards. The guards screamed as they were nailed to the wall.

Soon, the heavy threw down its weapon. Holding Paxton tight in one arm, it proceeded to charge at one of the remaining guards. The guard panicked as he was crushed between the heavy's thick shoulder and the wall.

Some blood splattered Paxton's face, but he didn't know.

The heavy again rammed another guard against the truck, and upon realizing its victim was still alive proceeded to smash the guard's head repeatedly against the truck until blood spurted from the cracks in his skull.

Paxton looked over the heavy's shoulder and saw another ATC guard aiming a weapon and firing.

The heavy was knocked to the floor as a shotgun round made contact with its back. Paxton rolled out of the way. As he got to his feet, he saw the heavy take two more shots from the guard.

"No!" Paxton cried, "Leave him alone!" he ran to the heavy's side.

"Hold your fire!" ordered the guard, "it's the commander!"

Paxton saw that the armor on the heavy's back had been ripped open, exposing the damaged skin, bone, and blood.

The heavy looked up at Paxton. Paxton reached out his hand, and the heavy took it. Paxton held the heavy's hand, sniffing with despair until the heavy's blue eyes flickered and went dark. With a final, distorted groan, the heavy's arm grew limp and its head fell.

It was dead.

Paxton wailed in sadness for the heroic metal warrior that had given its life for his without question. The guards tried to grab Paxton but he wriggled himself free and attempted to flee.

"Give him the tranquilizer," the guard spoke to another.

There was a sharp noise, and Paxton flew forward from the momentum. His vision faded, and so did his consciousness.

Harlan stopped his car in front of Alice's school.

"Have fun," he said, looking over at his daughter in the passenger seat.

"Thanks dad," Alice said smiling she opened the door, taking care not to get her pink dress caught in it, and started for the entrance to her school. There was a dance tonight and Alice looked her absolute best; Lip gloss, eye shadow and finely combed blonde hair.

Harlan grinned. It was every boy's dream to date Alice.

It would have been every boy's nightmare to date Alma…

"Dammit," Harlan cursed. Why couldn't he stop thinking about Alma? It had been 12 years and she hadn't needed to give birth to any new prototypes. She was getting a well-deserved vacation.

A vacation in a dark and never-ending hell of her nightmares, but it was a break.

Harlan sighed angrily. He pushed his foot down on the gas pedal, but took it off when his cell phone rang.

The caller ID read "Habegger, Charles."

Harlan answered the call with some hesitation.

"What is it Chuck?"

"It's Fettel," Charles sounded worried, "He took command of the replicas."

Harlan's eyes widened.

"Dear…god," he finally managed.

"We asked him why," Charles said, "He spoke about images. Of ghosts, a voice, and a little girl in a red dress.

Harlan got the worst stomachache he'd had in years. He felt like regurgitating.

"Do you think Alma…talked to him somehow?"

"That's exactly what we think happened Harlan," Charles said.

When Harlan didn't respond, Charles spoke again.

"The company wants to kill Alma."

Harlan hung up.

Alma lay on the ground of the playground in pain. She felt extremely hungry. She groaned in agony and attempted to stand. She feebly stood and walked a few feet before collapsing to her hands and knees.

"Where are you guys?" she asked weakly.

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, an apparition floated before her. It looked angry.

"The contact has failed," it hissed.

Alma chuckled sarcastically, "And that's my fault?"

"There is no time for this," the apparition interrupted, "You died a day ago, Alma, making it extremely difficult-"

Alma got to her knees and pulled the apparition closer by its throat. The apparition didn't see it coming.

Alma leaned into its ear and whispered, "You have 10 seconds to explain how I'm going to escape before I tear you apart."

She released the stunned apparition, without breaking eye contact.

"W-well," the apparition started, "Your physical body may be dead, but your soul is still alive, talking to me."

Alma went from angry to puzzled, "Who said anything about a physical body? I thought I was here."

"Your soul is here, but your body is dead," the apparition explained impatiently, "Now, if you can get Paxton to rescue your corpse, maybe your conscience will somehow follow you out with him."

Alma thought.

"When can I contact Paxton?"

"Obviously he's not ready for psychic communication yet. Try again when he reaches adulthood maybe that will yield some results."

"Just say the word," Alma said seriously.

The apparition nodded and floated away.

Alma ignored her hunger and meditated.

_I'm dead_, she thought.

Alma thought of her other son. Where was he? What was his name? The thoughts just made her angrier. Alma had no sadness anymore she only had pure fury.

She didn't understand any of it either, except for her father.

Had he left her to die? He never made any attempt to save her…

Alma looked to the sky and wailed in rage. It was her father. Her own father had taken her children, imprisoned her, and left her to die.

_Daddy I swear to you, _she thought, _when I escape, the first body will be you._

Paxton was twenty now. He was placed under heavy supervision by ATC in the six years since the massacre. Paxton never thought about that day anymore, he had more important matters to dwell on. He knew what the purpose of his birth was; to command clone soldiers in future wars.

Right now he knelt in his cell-like room. There was another presence inside his head. It was trying to probe his mind. Normally Paxton would identify the intruder and try to banish it from his mind, but it was taking all his strength to simply hold the presence at bay.

Paxton was weakening. He twitched as he tried to hold back the mental probe scanning his memories and identity. Suddenly the presence found a break.

"Kill them…" it said.

Paxton tightened his hold on his own mind. He was able to push away the probe, but it came back. A wall of hatred and agony assaulted Paxton's mind, and his mental defenses were breached.

"Kill them all…" the probe demanded.

A series of information and images flooded Paxton's conscience. Images of suffering, of ghoulish apparitions, slaughtered people, and a girl he remembered all too vividly. Information filled his memories like water to a cup; an unethical experiment, an escape plan, two babies…the second of which had his name.

Paxton understood. He understood everything but he didn't know how. He had all the knowledge of his mother, but he also held all of her pain.

Paxton screamed in frustration and realization, trying to cope with what he now knew…

…Paxton walked down the hallway of Armacham Technology Corporation, carrying a sharpened knife in his sleeve. He told his replicas to activate; 1000 soldiers at his command. He relayed his orders to them: "Kill them…kill them all."

Paxton turned his attention to an oblivious ATC guard. This guard would pay for what ATC had done to him and his mother. Paxton felt a rush of adrenaline as he stalked the guard, readying his blade for the kill.

The guard noticed Paxton's approach. He put down his copy of the magazine 'crate enthusiast', spun around, and reached for his pistol. But before he could defend himself against Paxton's attack he struck. Paxton brought the blade across the guard's neck, which proceeded to gush blood. The blood gave Paxton an idea…

…Paxton knelt down as he devoured the scientist's corpse. His replicas stood watch over him, scanning the area for any threats. Paxton once learned from overhearing two guards' conversation about the game Assassin's Creed that it was possible for memories to remain inside DNA permanently. Since Paxton was psychic, he had proceeded to kill all important looking ATC personnel and eat their flesh, searching for clues to Alma's location in their DNA. He had garnered some important information from this particular scientist, including a long list of people involved in Project Origin: the experiment that imprisoned his mother. He had also gained the amusing last moments of the scientist, where Paxton had started in on his meal.

Paxton looked at the unrecognizable, grisly face of the scientist, and then looked around to see if any one was lurking in the shadows that his replica guards couldn't see. Paxton felt like he was being watched.

Alma had no emotion. She had become one with her son. She was seeing the world through Paxton's eyes. As Paxton devoured Charles Habbegger, a wealth of information flooded Alma's mind. She knew what "Origin" was now.

Alma shrieked in rage as she watched through Paxton's eyes as a car pulled up in an alley. Out climbed an armored soldier.

_Run_ Alma commanded.

Paxton obeyed and ordered his replicas out of the area.

Minutes went by. Paxton held a 2 X 4 and waited around the corner. Surely enough, the soldier obliviously rounded the corner. Paxton brought the 2 X 4 down on the soldier's head with a CRACK!

As the soldier hit the ground of the building, Paxton prepared for the killing blow. However, Alma felt a certain vibe from the soldier.

_Wait! _She said, _don't hit him._

Alma knew, that even though the soldier wore a mask, that it was her first son. Paxton licked the blood on the 2 X 4 and her first son's memories were revealed.

_Try to tell him_ Alma said.

As the soldier came to, Paxton started to talk to him.

"The dead man's name was Charles Habbegger," he began, "I remember him. But are the memories mine or hers?"

Paxton halted for effect, "It makes no difference."

The soldier squirmed and Paxton ran away.

Alma felt regretful as she was forced to watch her first son fade from view.

_It's for the best, _Paxton assured, _we can only hope that he will understand and join us in our revenge._

Alma acknowledged.

_We can only hope._

Alma withdrew temporarily from Paxton's mind. She needed time to think. So far the plan was succeeding, but what about afterwards. Would she have to live in a state of unlivingness? Like a zombie or ghost? Would she punish those who wronged her?

_I have the power to do that _Alma thought, seeing the images of slaughtered surgeons and how she had threatened an apparition.

The apparition materialized then and Alma got up from her kneeling position on the ground of the playground.

"The contact was a success," it started, "Paxton is searching for clues as to your physical whereabouts."

"I know," Alma said, "I've been with him all the way."

There was a silence, and Alma got an idea.

She thought about her ability to mentally converse with Paxton, maybe she could talk to her other son in some way.

She told the apparition.

"Try to turn him as well," it said, "He doesn't know who he is."

Alma sat down and concentrated on thoughts of her other baby. The first night, where her life had really gone to hell.

The F.E.A.R. point man was seated in the helicopter, ready to go to the wastewater treatment plant on the far side of Fairport. He didn't know what to expect, and he was still mulling over what Paxton Fettle had said to him. His head also still hurt.

He began to daydream as the heli took off…

…A light, stinging his eyes. There was noise everywhere.

"Breathe!" shouted a man, "Make her push!"

An ear-searing scream pierced the air.

"I've tried to forget," spoke a man. His back was turned, so all the point man could see was a white lab coat and grey hair. Yet, the point man felt like he recognized this man somehow.

"I've tried so hard to forget…."

The man turned around, but the point man woke up before he could see the man's face….

…The point man woke up in the heli. He looked around. The delta force soldiers in the heli weren't paying any attention to him.

"Let's fuck shit up!" one said, grabbing the zip line.

The point man concluded that they must have arrived at the docks. He readied his SMG and grabbed the line after the soldier.

Paxton Fettel had Bill Moody tied to a chair. The Armacham researcher was unconscious, and replicas stood guard all around the area.

Fettel slapped Moody on the side of the head, and he woke with a start.

"Wake up, Moody."

"W-where…where am I? Who are you?" The terrified researcher asked frantically.

Paxton chuckled, "You're still at the waste-water plant, where Armacham has been dumping its chemicals."

"How do you know about that!?" Bill cried.

"I know a great many things," Paxton said, "But there is something that I don't know, and you will tell me…whether you want to or not."

"What could it possibly be?"

Paxton began to pace.

"Where's Alma?"

Bill looked dumbstruck, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Paxton sighed. He'd have to do this the hard way.

"Some secrets get buried deeper than others, but I know where to dig."

Bill knew that things were going to get really ugly, really quickly.

"No, wait! You've got the wrong guy!"

Paxton leaned in close, so Bill could smell his breath. It reeked of entrails, organs, and pain.

"Hush now, Mr. Moody. The time for talk is done…"

"No! Wait! P-please!"

As Moody begged for mercy, Paxton prepared for his meal….

Alma passed the time with thinking. An hour in the apparition's world was half a year in the human world. How did this work? Thanks to this, it was only three minutes before Paxton contacted her again.

_Mother!_

_Paxton?_

_I've found you! My soldiers have killed their way through many obstacles in order to free you from your prison. There has been much bloodshed, but you will soon be free!_

Alma steeled herself. She would finally be able to take her revenge upon the ATC, her father, and the world. But yet again, Paxton interrupted her.

_Wait, mother, _He said, _it's my brother. He's followed me…and he hasn't learned._

_Don't kill him! _Alma begged, _I want to talk to him!_

_One last time I will try to make him understand, but even if he doesn't and I die you will still be free…_

Alma fused her vision with Paxton's…

Paxton was hunched over the corpse of a blonde young lady. He was eating her face, unaware that the F.E.A.R. point man was approaching him from behind. As the point man raised his pistol, Paxton turned around.

"You still don't know, do you?" Paxton spoke, "What you are? Why you're here?"

The point man fired two bullets into the wall.

Paxton continued, "What's the first thin you remember? What's your given name? Where were you born? You have no history."

The point man obviously heard him, but continued to fire into the walls.

"You and I were born from the same mother…"

More shots.

"You must have sensed it. She cannot see into your mind, but perhaps you can see into hers…a life of waking from one nightmare, only to find herself deep in another…"

Finally the point man's attention shifted to Paxton.

"I will set her free."

The point man walked up to Paxton…

He aimed his pistol at his forehead…

And fired.

Alma snapped out of mental connection with Paxton.

No! Paxton was dead. Her other son had just killed his own brother. Alma was horrified and heartbroken. She was trapped in here unless her other son finally realized her plight and what he had done to amplify it.

Alma sank to her knees in hopelessness, depression, and anger.

Harlan Wade stood in front of Alma's cell. He knew that Paxton and the F.E.A.R. operative were on his tail, but he didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore. Alice was dead, Armacham was exposed, and he would most likely be jailed for the rest of his haunted life.

He turned on his laptop and opened a recording program. He saw his face on the screen, and began to monologue; one last account of what had happened if anyone survived to see what he was about to do.

He talked, almost to himself, as he explained his reasons for locking Alma in her dark cell. He simultaneously bombarded himself with accusations in his head about what he had done. His justifications were pathetic, and he finally found himself evil.

"They want to destroy her," Harlan said to the computer, "but I think she's suffered enough.

He entered the release sequence into the terminal and the cell opened. Harlan prepared for what he would see, but he still flinched.

"Alma!" the apparitions shrieked, "You're free!"

Alma looked up. Through her tears, she could see a white doorway open up in the middle of the playground. It glowed with the allure of freedom and retaliation, beckoning Alma to go forth and avenge all that had been cast upon her tortured spirit.

Without saying goodbye to the apparitions, she stepped through…

…Harlan watched in horror as Alma's emaciated corpse stepped towards him. Her lips and eye sockets were shriveled and black, and her ribs protruded from her sides under translucent flesh.

"Alma," he begged, "Alma please…" Harlan sank to his knees in anguish. He could feel the skin melting of his bones, muscle, arteries, and epidermis. He felt he deserved the pain; he was just getting what he gave out to Alma years prior.

His life ended then and there.

Alma looked around. She was… somewhere. An apparition floated beside her.

"You're free!" it screamed.

"Yes," Alma said. In her physical form she sounded like a frog, but to herself she sounded womanly and mature, "But you owe me."

The apparition was puzzled, "What? Why? We gave you your freedom!"

Alma glanced at the steaming skeletal remains of her father.

"He gave me my freedom," she said, "All you gave me were nightmares!"

The apparition reeled back, "Not our fault!"

"Either you help me, or you melt as well…I can do it," Alma said, I have the power, and you know it."

The apparition submitted, "What is it you want, Alma?"

Alma grinned, her dry lips cracking and bleeding.

"This world…in flames."


End file.
